The Unconventional Romance Bundle

Author: Veronica Sloan

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These aren't your standard romances. They're a little bit naughtier, a little bit dirtier, and a whole lot more fun. These lovers are going to earn their happily ever after, but it's going to be a kinky ride! This bundle collects four books: "Claiming Cassidy," "Bad Boys Are So Good With Their Hands," "One Weekend With My Best Friend's Father," and "His Personal Call Girl."

Length: 96,000 Words

Availability: In stock


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These aren't your standard romances. They're a little bit naughtier, a little bit dirtier, and a whole lot more fun. These lovers are going to earn their happily ever after, but it's going to be a kinky ride! In "Claiming Cassidy," a shy nerd finds his inner alpha when he learns his co-worker likes it rough. In "Bad Boys Are So Good With Their Hands," Mona can't resist the lustful advances of her roommate's ex. In "One Weekend With My Best Friend's Father," Lindsey has to share a sleeping bag with a silver fox...and can't help exploiting the situation. Finally, in "His Personal Call Girl," Catherine is desperate for cash, and Tom has money to burn. If she'll be his personal prostitute, he'll make it worth her while. There's just one hitch: Catherine has a boyfriend...

Additional Info

Additional Info

steamy romance, dirty talk, kinky sex, sexy older man, silver fox, passionate love, cheating affair, daughters best friend, sex for money, phone sex
Veronica Sloan
Heat Level
Heat Level (4)
Sloan & Company



I brought my fist down on his shoulder. I brought the other into his hard shoulder blade. The bone bit into the heel of my palm and I cried out, but that didn't stop me. He squeezed me to him even tighter and I struggled in his grip, raining blows on his arms and his shoulders. It was like all the years of frustrated longing were being ripped from me, squeezed out by his thick arms around my quivering body. And then his mouth was on mine again, hot and yearning. I sobbed into his mouth, guilty for wanting, desperate for release. I'd seen him that night, and in that misbegotten glance he'd learned more about me than I would have ever told him.

"I don't know how," I whispered into his mouth. His thumbs skated across my cheeks as I dug my fingers into his neck. "My heart can't take it anymore. I can't be sexy."

"You don't have to be sexy," he whispered back. "Just accept that I want you."

I blinked up at him through my tears. His mouth, so quick to smirk, was now so earnest. The fire blazed inside me, but I still felt bad. "It's wrong," I whispered. "She had you first."

"So make a mistake," he said. His fingers plunged into the muscles that surrounded my spine, biting and pulling like dogs at play. It arched my neck, and when they roved lower it sent flares of purple fire spinning around my loins. "Let me tempt you."

It felt so good to be squeezed in his arms. "Tempt me?"

"You can say I took you." His teeth bit into my earlobe. "That I forced you."

The words rippled to my core. "F-forced me?"

Fingers pushed under the elastic in my sweats. Fingertips on the swell of my ass. I inhaled sharply. "You came here..." he murmured. His nose pushed my chin aside and his teeth bit into my neck. "You told me what you were supposed to..." A thousand strings pulled taut between my legs when he seized my thigh. "And I took out my frustrated passion on your soft and reluctant body..." Hand on my center, tongue in my ear, his breath streaming down my throat. I screamed out my approval.

"Oh my God!" I gasped.

"Does that feel wrong?"

"A little wrong," I whimpered.

"Are you afraid of me?"


"Do you want it now?"


And then he was pulling the sweatpants over my ass. He didn't yank them down, no, he pulled them against my waist, made me stumble into him. He was wearing jeans but I could feel the bulge distinctly through my sweats. He rubbed the fabric down one cheek, then the other, pulling me in tighter against him. When I stumbled I had to throw my arms up, and my hands flattened against his chest. They slid up his shoulders as he lowered himself. And as he sank to his knees my sweatpants slid down the backs of my legs. John kissed his way down until my pants were a soft little pool at my feet.

He spread the pants over my ankles and kissed the top of my foot. I watched him, a spectator to my own seduction. He got on his hands and his knees like a royal supplicant and bowed his head. I watched him kiss my foot. Then he bent to the other and kissed my toes. They were dusty from my walk across campus, and still I felt him lick the top of each one.

He grasped my ankles as he kissed his way up. Kneaded the muscles around the bone. It wasn't until he got to my shins that he started to lick--long licks like he was trying to eat each tiny bit of stubble where I'd shaved. He kissed my knees. Then he told me, "Turn around."

I turned to face the wall. His palms swept my legs like they were precious books in his private collection, although I'd never heard of a collector tonguing pages the way he attended to the soft patches behind my knees. His saliva was hot when it left his mouth, but it cooled on my skin. I pushed my forehead into the wall and groaned in disbelief.


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About the Author

Veronica Sloan

Veronica Sloan is a freelance writer living in Southern California. She also writes dirty books. She loves big dogs, hot yoga and songs that are stupidly catchy.

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